was a good year for poetry.
There were two reasons for that:
the first was the constant life and bustle in the
the second was, for me, the influence of Julia
Cameron's book - lent me by a dear friend..
snippets from my 'three pages scribbling a morning
did find their way into the echo, some of them after a bit of a tidy
up.. of course!
Here are two of them. The first posted in order
to test the links, and trace the progress of Fido mail round the country!
As for the other two, I doubt if I would ever
have thought of them without that morning exercise.
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This new day seems to curve her polished grey
You grip me, Morning, with a fist of plans,
proddings, lists, wantings, mental notes,
and the occasional wish to party.
All this can't happen before nightfall
not that I care. You've got some cheek
Day! Delivering this long, crushing list
and then ambling on by, on your own,
07 May 97
for all our
worry and coaxing
why won't you
come out, tell me,
sing in my open head?
19 May 97
There used to
be cranes, I remember
down by the
creek, through the valley,
blue pukeko near the swamp.
Now the real
cranes swing and sway
loop and swoop,
will have come
just that much
further along the way.
By the wall
at the garden centre,
taken away six fine
the red berry tree
and for the
life of me,
see why. Where do the blue
go, I wonder, in the cold
the real crane sweep the sky?
26 Apr 97
(but joy cometh)
around an inner light; How dark these trees
stand, hard against the dawn. The cave of birds
shatters the weeping stillness of my night
now heart catch fire as clouds reveal the edge
of sunlight rising under hill: O Son
of Dawning, I await your bright returns!